


HEAVEN (phan au)

by coffeeandcatwhiskers



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coming Out, Dan Howell and Phil Lester Are Teenagers, Lowercase, M/M, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Songfic, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-08-07 22:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcatwhiskers/pseuds/coffeeandcatwhiskers
Summary: "without losing a piece of me, how do i get to heaven?"dan's always been waiting for the day where all this weight comes off of his shoulders.the second it happens, it goes exactly opposite to his plan.phil's family is more than understanding when their son reveals his true feelings.in short, phil's family becomes dan's.(based on HEAVEN by troye sivan)





	1. the truth runs wild

i wake up to my alarm blaring from the nightstand beside my bed. my room is cold. i reach over, turn off the alarm, and throw my blankets to the side. i can already hear my brother getting around for school in the bathroom across the hall so i decide to get dressed while i wait. i pull on a simple black jumper and a pair of black skinny jeans, complimenting them with a pair of pokemon socks. i don’t bother straightening my hair - the curls look nice today. i take a quick look in the mirror that hangs from behind my door and decide that what i’m wearing is good enough. 

 

“good morning, dan!” adrian greets me as he exits the bathroom. i smile and tell him “good morning” as well. he looks up at me, a confused look on his face. “your hair’s curly today. didn’t you feel like straightening it?”

“no, not today.”

“is today the day you’ll tell mum and dad?”

“what makes you think that?”

“i’m not sure. you’re always trying to make everything neat and perfect and  _ straight _ , but you aren’t today.”

“maybe it will be, maybe it won’t.” he gives me a hug before heading back into his room and accidentally slamming the door behind him. 

“adrian!” her piercing voice rings up the stairs. 

“sorry, mum!” she laughs before coming up to make sure we’re all ready for school.

“i’ve been cooking downstairs. if you’re ready, breakfast is on the table.” i politely decline, brushing my teeth and grabbing my backpack from my bed. a couple of papers fall out but i simply leave them where they’ve fallen. mum will occasionally tidy our rooms on her days off, picking up little things here and there. sure enough, she comes back down the hall with her vacuum cleaner. a door creaks open as i head down the stairs. 

 

“the bus will be here any minute, boys. you’d better get m-... hmm.” 

“what was that, mum?” 

“what’s this, daniel james?” i enter my room once again to see her eyes scaling over one of the sheets of loose leaf that fell from my bag. i don’t bother wondering what was on the paper. 

“oh, i think i dropped a paper or two. why?”

“i’m just curious. there’s little notes all around the margins.” i nervously gulp. the margins of my paper are usually where i doodle or write little poems, speeches, and mental arguments. this one just happens to be my maths homework from yesterday, which i completed while listening to a new troye sivan album. 

“yeah?”

“yeah. this one here has a quote on it. would you mind explaining it?” at this point, i’m shaking. “it says ‘all my life’s been wasted feeling like my heart’s mistaken’. is there something you’re not telling me?” 

“mum, i’m so sorry.”

“what are you apologising for?”

“i know how you feel about this stuff.” she still looks confused, mentally questioning what i mean until suddenly, it hits her like a ton of bricks. 

“are you telling me you’re gay?” 

“i like boys and girls, mum.”

“so you’re confused.”  _ this is exactly how i thought it would go.  _

“no. i’ve never been more positive about anything in my life.”

“this isn’t how we raised you.”

“it doesn’t matter how you raised me. i know who and what and how i am.”

“well, what you are is wrong.”

“dan! we’re going to be late.” i rush out of my room, grabbing my coat from a chair before i head out with adrian. 

“this conversation isn’t over, daniel.” i pull the front door shut with all the force i possibly can. i just feel so angry. there’s so much building up and it feels like i’m going to explode. 

 

for the first time since i was 12, i cry. it isn’t even crying, either. it’s sobbing. my chest hurts and there are tears pouring down my face. adrian glances back at me, his expression almost immediately becoming concerned. 

“dan? are you okay?”

“i’m fine.”

“you’re crying. i’m not stupid. you haven’t cried since you broke your arm. what happened?”

“everything’s okay.” 

“please tell me. i want to know what’s wrong. we’re brothers. we have to look out for each other.”

“mum found out. i dropped a piece of paper that had something on it and she saw it. i accidentally outed myself.”

“oh dear. is this a happy cry?”

“she told me i’m wrong, adrian. she said i’m confused.” 

“you’re not confused, though.” i nod. 

“that’s what i said to her.” he wraps his arms around me once we arrive at the bus stop, hugging me. 

“i’m sorry. i’m proud of you regardless.” i hug him back and continue to sob. finally, the bus pulls up. i wipe the tears from my cheeks, boarding the bus with adrian. 

 

i don't want to go home after school today. i don't want to imagine what dad would say.   
  



	2. trying to save face

i make sure adrian gets to class and then i walk to my first class of the day.

biology is usually the best part of school for me, but today it just… isn’t. nothing’s right and it hasn’t been since i woke up. part of me hopes that mum will just forget everything that happened this morning. that adrian and i will walk back inside after school and everything will be the same as it was when we went to sleep last night. i wish i had just picked the papers up and shoved them back in my bag. 

this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.

i’m supposed to be able to choose how it happens and the process is MINE to figure out and just like that, every single idea i had for my future just flew out of the window. mom’s going to spill to the entire family and i’m going to have to hear about how “daniel’s just a little confused right now, that’s all.” at every single gathering. adrian’s going to have to sit and get hammered with questions like, “you won’t turn out like that, will you?” and i’m going to get drilled with “oh, you’ll grow out of it.” dad’s going to be all, “well, it looks like adrian’s going to be the one we’ll babysit for.” everyone’s going to turn against me all because of one simple mistake.

 

it’s like the entire world isn’t already against me or something.

 

i only realise how long i’ve been stuck in my thoughts when the bell rings and the teacher dismisses us. the hallway is a clustered mess and i just want to get to my french class without anybody talking to me. naturally, i keep my head down and stare at the floor. people will either notice that i’m walking quicker and get out of the way or just walk quicker on their own. 

 

then i bump into a tall figure and immediately begin to apologise. 

 

“i’m sorry, i wasn’t paying attention. i’m in a hurry to get to class and i’m sorry for running into you. it isn’t your f-”

“who said i was blaming you?” i recognise the voice and look up. 

“oh, i’m sorry, phil. you know how i am.” he laughs a little bit, rearranging his fringe on his forehead.

“why are you apologising for apologising?” 

“‘i’m frazzled today.”

“well, since i’m heading to french and i know you are, how about we walk together and you can tell me what happened?”

“what if i don’t feel like talking about it?”

“you don’t have to. i just know it helps me.”

“i guess.” so we begin to walk and i tell him about this morning’s events, leaving out the whole  _ daniel’s out to his very angry mother _ part because i haven’t told him either and i don’t want him reacting negatively. i simply state “mum found out something i didn’t want anybody knowing and now i’m screwed.”

“is she upset?”

“upset enough that i don’t want to go home after school, yeah.”

“well, if you want to ride home with me, martyn’s got his licence now and he can drive with other people in the car. you don’t have to, but i get it if you don’t want to go home tonight.”

“that would be nice. can we swing by my house so i can pack a small bag?” 

“of course.” he smiles, a hint of sadness behind his eyes. i think he can understand well enough because he stops asking me about it and changes the subject to our class. 

 

“half of the time, i don’t bother accentuating certain words. it’ll just come out sounding like a dog choking on a plastic wrapper.”

“i wish i was choking on a plastic wrapper.”   
“that would be miserable, dan.”

“well, it beats the educational system by a longshot.”

“you’re not wrong.” i sigh, glancing up at him. mum constantly tells me i’ll hit a growthspurt soon, and i’d like that, so i don’t have to keep looking back upward at the only person besides my brother that i enjoy being around. we reach our french classroom, greeting the teacher upon entry. she hands us a couple of worksheets and we automatically take seats right next to each other. he rips a piece of paper out of his notebook and writes at the top,  _ what was it that your mum figured out? you don’t have to tell me, but i think i have an idea. _

i write,  _ can i tell you later? i don’t want anybody seeing the paper and a repeat of this morning to happen.  _ he nods and crumples the piece of paper, tossing it in the bin next to his desk. i turn in my worksheet, having completed it. for the rest of the class, i just rest my head on the desk. phil pats my shoulder in an attempt to reassure me the best way he knows how. i give him a small grin, resting my head back on the desk. 

 

the main thing that concerns me is that everyone’s finding everything out that i never planned on telling them in the first place.

  
  



	3. i'm lying through my teeth

the rest of the school day goes by quickly and i’m grateful when it’s finally over. phil walks me out to his brother’s car and i smile when martyn greets me.

“where to, daniel?”   
“actually, he’s riding home with us.”

“oh?” phil gestures to speak to martyn in front of the car. i decide to hop in the backseat and shove my earbuds into their respective ears. there’s a fall out boy song on and i turn it up a little more. i quickly recognize that it’s ginasfs and it makes me giggle a little bit.  _ ironic, huh?   _

the brothers finish speaking and get into the car. i’m just ready to sit down and tell phil everything but i can’t because i don’t know how he’ll react. a negative reaction is worse in my opinion than no reaction at all.

“so how’s adrian?”

“he’s doing well. he’s thinking of joining the orchestra or playing football. i suggested orchestra because he’s got a violin from our grandma and just never uses it.”   
“i’m sure he’ll do well at either.”

“probably. how are your parents?”

“mum and dad are alright. same cookie cutter parents they’ve always been.” 

“makes sense.” after this conversation, we’re all pretty much silent until we reach the lesters’ house. it has the same cozy atmosphere it usually does and the second i walk through the door, i’m greeted by kathryn wrapping her arms around me. 

 

“daniel, sweetie, how are you?” 

“i’m okay, thanks.”

“phil tells me you’re staying tonight. is everything fine at home?”   
“mum’s mad at me for something that isn’t even my fault, so i’m just avoiding home tonight.”   
“well, we’re making dinner and i’m sure martyn and philip would be more than happy to play video games or something with you. you’re like a brother to them, after all.”

“that sounds lovely. thank you.” she gives me another warm hug and heads back into the kitchen. 

 

“dan, do you want to head upstairs? you can sit your things in my room if you’d like.” i nod and follow phil up to his room. my brain is still flustered from everything that happened this morning and i want nothing more than to just sleep. some part of me just wants to believe that none of it happened and my brain is just playing games with me. then again, that would just be another thing that’s wrong with me. i simply shake my head and try not to let it bother me too much. “are you alright?”

“hmm?”

“are you alright, dan?”

“oh. i think so. i’m just considering everything that happened.” he gives me a somewhat confused glance before opening up his door. there’s multicolour lights hanging from his bedposts and his entire room has the familiar soft aura it always does.

“you can sit down, y’know? dinner won’t be ready for another hour or so.” i take up his offer, taking a seat on the foot of his bed. he sits on the opposite end, handing me a blanket. “can you please tell me what’s going on? i usually never worry this much about people, but you’re one of my best friends. i want you to be safe.”

“phil, i just… i don’t want to tell you.”

“god, daniel. spit it out!” i glare at him, unsure of my decision. 

“i can’t just  _ spit it out _ . this isn’t even how i wanted to tell you in the first place.”   
“tell me what? what could be so important that you can’t just tell me? you trust me, right?” every single emotion that’s been trapped in my head today just builds up and i can’t tell whether i want to cry or scream. 

“why are you so damn persistent?”

“why do you keep stalling it?”

“because i don’t know how to tell you.”   
“just tell me the best way you know how.” 

“the only people who know are adrian, my mum, and myself. i’m not sure how to tell anybody.”

“try, okay?”

“fine.” after tossing thoughts around in my head for a few minutes while phil stares at me, awaiting any response, i decide on how i’m going to word it. “please don’t be upset with me. i don’t want a repeat of how mum was this morning.”

“i don’t know how i could ever be upset with you. just tell me what’s going on.”

“okay. well, here goes. i like boys and girls. i’m bi.”   
“i literally don’t see a reason to be upset with you because of that.”

“what? i thought you’d be weirded out or something.”

“dan, i’m gay. it’d be hypocritical of me to think you’re weird or something just because you like boys the same way you like girls. if anything, i’m relieved.”

“oh. haha. hahaha.”

“are you okay?”

“i’m great, actually. wow. i feel so much better now.  _ wow. _ ”   
“well, that’s good. i know it felt good when i was finally able to get it out to mum and dad. martyn kind of guessed.”

“oh. well.”

“but it’s good you’re feeling better. i kow it’s difficult and everything. you can’t ever really tell who you trust nowadays i suppose.”

“you’re the first person who hasn’t been confused when i told them. that, and you didn’t call me confused either.”

“it’s because i’m not stupid, daniel.”

“i guess.” that’s when i start crying. phil pulls me closer and hugs me and tells me that it’s fine and that i’m fine and that everything is fine and for the first time,  i actually believe it. 

 

it’s fine. 

  
  



	4. this voice inside has been eating at me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: food

phil’s mum calls us down for dinner and she immediately asks if i’m okay. i try not to imagine that it’s that obvious that i’ve been crying. i say “yes”, and it’s wild, because i believe myself when i say it. phil gives me a soft smile and i grin back at him.   
“that’s good to hear. you know where everything is, so feel free to get your own plate. i’ve made spaghetti.”  
“thank you.” i stand up at the same time as phil and we both go to retrieve plates from the cabinet. kathryn calls her son into the dining room from the kitchen and i decide to get my food while i wait for them to come back in. after sitting at the table for a few moments, the two return, getting their food and joining me. 

after a couple of seconds and a sip of some kind of red wine, mrs. lester decides to start a casual dinnertime conversation.   
“phil tells me about your french class sometimes.”  
“it’s an okay time. our teacher last year was sort of mental, but this year’s teacher isn’t too bad. i always have an A, so i guess i’m alright at it.”  
“that’s good. what else do you do at school?”  
“well, i’ve got biology, english, and maths. i was going to join the orchestra but they didn’t need pianists and i don’t want to learn string instruments, so i just decided to forget about it. like i said, adrian’s probably going to join anyway. i’m sure our parents would be more fond of that than me joining.” she nods slowly. phil continues to poke at his food, eventually taking a bite. it gets quiet again and i decide to have a few bites for myself.   
“is it good? everyone has a different taste in spaghetti, so i understand if you don’t like it.”  
“it’s excellent. thank you.” i didn’t eat lunch today, so i guess any food is better than none. kathryn’s always been a good chef.   
“that’s nice to hear. philip, could you please eat a bit more?”  
“yeah, i’m just not very hungry. you know how i am when i’m worried.” he eats a little bit more and asks if we can be excused. his mother sighs and says “yes”, finishing off her pasta and wine and heading to the living room. 

soon we’re back up in his room and the door is closed and he looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“what happened?”  
“you know how mum asked me to come into the dining room?” i nod. “i had to tell her what you told me. she was scared that you were being hurt or something. i didn’t want her thinking something other than the truth.”  
“and why are you upset?”  
“i know you’ve already had to tell people things today that you never planned on telling them. i didn’t want you to be mad that mum knows, too.”  
“she was worried. i’m not mad at you. you’ve given me more time to speak today than anybody has in my entire life.”   
“that’s a relief.” he giggles, still minorly panicking.   
“can i have another hug?”  
“you can have as many as you’d like.” he opens his arms and i sort of lean into him and he smells nice but i don’t let it get to my head because what if i fall for him and oh my god.

that’s exactly what i’m doing.


	5. trying to replace

we stand there for a few minutes, my head resting against his neck and his arms around me. i try to shake any feeling of want or need for this boy from my head but now that i’ve expressed how i feel to him, it’s impossible. i couldn’t trust mum with what i’ve said and adrian’s too young still to have to deal with all of it, but phil’s not judging me. he’s not making fun of me, he’s not yelling at me and calling me wrong for feeling the way i do. he knows how i feel and that’s the main reason why he’s so understanding about it. plus, i know i can trust him with just about anything. 

trust shouldn’t ever have to be something that one practically begs for from another. it’s part of respect. mum has always said that whenever adrian and i have tried keeping secrets from her. that’s just how siblings are. we can trust each other and nobody else and with her being our mother, it shouldn’t be like that. it’s ironic how she’s turned her own words on herself. 

“dan?”  
“mhm?”  
“are we done hugging yet? my legs are falling asleep.”  
“sure.” and so we part and i glance at him and think jesus christ, daniel james howell. what have you gotten yourself into here? and he looks like he’s thinking about buffy or that spaghetti we had for dinner. there’s no way his brain is in the same place as mine. kathryn even told me herself. the boys think of me as a brother. brothers aren’t boyfriend material. that’s illegal.  
“are you feeling better now?” i nod and take a seat on the edge of his bed, careful as to not knock down his gleaming multicoloured lights.  
“i think i needed food and some quality conversation. that’s all.”  
“you do realize you can just come over any time if food and quality conversation is what you need, right? my family loves you, dan.”  
“i guess. everything just gets so hectic. i don’t know.”  
“i get that. i mean, not to the same extent as you. mum and dad and martyn are all really understanding, but sometimes they act like i’m a fragile child.”  
“right.” now he’s staring at me and i can sense that he’s got something on his mind.

“so how did you figure out that you like guys and girls?” i could tell him the truth. i could just say right here that i used to look at him all the way back in middle school and just think wow. he’s pretty. or i could lie and tell him that i dunno, people are pretty.  
“it’s always just been something in the back of my head. i don’t know how i figured it out. girls are nice. boys are nice. people are nice. i could love anybody as long as they love me too.”  
“that’s a good way of putting it.”  
“how’d you figure out that you’re gay?”  
“kids have a way of figuring things out early, y’know? kids would talk about their crushes on the playground and i’d always talk about this cute boy that was in my class. i only figured out that something was wrong when everyone started telling him how i felt. he told me to leave him alone and said some words i didn’t even understand. we were 8 at the time. i didn’t think that it was weird to like him. it just happened. i went home, told mum and dad that it happened, and they sat me down to talk. i didn’t get it back then because i was a tiny child, but once middle school hit, i just understood it entirely.”  
“damn.”  
“yeah. i’m pretty fortunate to have the situation i do.” that makes me think. everyone picked on him and instead of getting upset, he was just able to talk to his parents. 

like i said before, trust is part of respect. does mum not respect me? i mean, i guess it would make sense. she and dad had me at a time in their lives when they were definitely not responsible enough to raise a child. adrian was born at a perfect time. adrian is involved in everything. i only care about science and french. i’m bisexual. adrian isn’t. i’m everything a parent wouldn’t want. 

i’m nothing but a confused, curly-haired, emo asshole who’s got a weird crush on his best friend that he just found out was gay and that’s all i’m going to be for the rest of eternity.


	6. like kids on concrete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> howdy y'all!
> 
> in the case that you've read the newest chapter of my other phanfic, sidereal, you probably saw the summary on there stating that i probably will not be updating more until (or after) january 7th.
> 
> i'm currently on winter break and feeling the need to update fics often gives me more stress than i need. then again, i created this in october and i'm only on the sixth chapter. well done, i know.
> 
> anywhomst, i just wanted to let y'all know that just in case any of you were hoping for new content after reading this.
> 
> then again, why would you?
> 
> to conclude this, i hope you enjoy the sixth chapter of HEAVEN. if you've got suggestions or requests for new stories / one-shots, do feel free to leave them in the comments. i may get bored over vacation.
> 
> much love!

it’s later now and we’re both sitting, scrolling through memes and showing each other the ones that make us laugh. his are usually really wholesome ones that just make me smile and mine are either really dark and actually kind of sad or really stupid with no actual comedic content. 

“it seems like your humour has just devolved into self-deprecation and random blurbs.”  
“basically, yeah.” 

then we get bored. i consider the fact that we’ve got school in the morning and i’d really like to be well rested if i’m going to go home to mum and dad questioning me.

“i’m tired, phil.”  
“well, it’s close to midnight. perhaps we should sleep?”   
“sure. i’ll take the floor.”  
“no need, the bed’s big enough.”  
“okay, if you insist.” my retort, albeit sarcastic, illicits a response of “shush. you’re fine.”

he leaves the room and comes back with a few spare blankets.  
“my room gets cold at night. i wouldn’t want you freezing half to death.”  
“i’m sure i’ll be fine.”  
“take the blankets and quit being so stubborn.” he shoves the stack of blankets toward me and i take them, lying down on the right side of his bed and unfolding the blankets. phil exits his room yet again, coming back with pajamas on. by the time he returns, i’m already cozy. the blankets smell like him. he must use them a lot. 

he lies on the left side of his bed, obviously not as sleepy as i am.   
“dan, are you going to be okay?”  
“what do you mean?”  
“when you go home after school tomorrow, y’know. are your parents going to freak out?”  
“of course they will. that doesn’t mean i won’t be okay.”  
“okay. i just want to make sure you’ll be safe.”  
“they’re not gonna kick me out or anything just because they think i’m confused. mum will just call me a confused kid who’s too young to decide anything for himself and should go to church more. dad will only look up from his computer long enough to agree with her.”   
“oh. well, if you need to come over again, mum said you’re welcome. just call in advance.”   
“okay. thank you.”  
“yeah. now get some sleep.”

half of me thinks he’s fallen asleep. then he speaks again.

“y’know, you’re one of my best friends. i care about you a lot. i don’t want you getting hurt.”  
“i know.”  
“you just… i dunno.”  
“i just what?”  
“nothing. i’m too tired.”   
“i’ve told you a lot today. it’s fine if you need to get something off your chest. i can listen.”  
“i worry for you. i just want you to be happy, is all.”  
“okay. same goes for you, y’know.” he sighs then he hugs me. his arms are wrapped tight around my waist and he pulls me closer. “you okay?”  
“i don’t want to lose you, dan.”  
“you’re not going to.”  
“good.”

i don’t want to suspect that this could be even the slightest bit powered by gay energy, but a part of me wants to believe it. i mean, haven’t you ever read a story where a boy falls for another boy and doesn’t want to say it out loud? he KNOWS how he feels but doesn’t want to risk getting hurt, right? 

that’s kind of how they act.

\---

the alarm clock on his bedside table begins sounding off and he hits a button on it very forcefully.   
“school really wants to get fought, doesn’t it, danny?” he questions me in a hazy, raspy morningtime voice.  
“what?” i sound like winnie the pooh at this early of an hour.   
“i will fight the entire educational system.”  
“okay, i feel that. but also, what?” he chuckles a little bit, rolling himself out of bed. it makes the sound most mattresses make when one leaves their bed and the springs are readjusting themselves. it’s that crinkly-yet-smooth sound that picks up twice as loud on microphones and informs a friend that one is just just now getting up to go get a snack or use the washroom. i follow him, breaking the path when i walk to his bathroom to get changed. phil heads down to the kitchen. “shreddies or krave, dan?”  
“krave. what am i, a lunatic?”  
“yes, but only because you chose krave.”  
“unbelievable.” we both laugh and i close the door behind me, locking it. 

staring in the mirror, i immediately take note of my curly hair. i think that was my first mistake yesterday. my hair wasn’t straight, and because of that, nothing was. perhaps i overthought certain things and didn’t think enough about others. 

i wish that i was in this house under better circumstances, like when we were just a couple of nerd children with nothing superior to do with our free time than sit on the floor and play video games that nobody knew or cared for.

i wish everything wasn’t so difficult.


	7. i'm screaming at me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> god, i have so much creative energy from not being in school. makes sense, considering school kills any bit of creativity for me. haha. 
> 
> anyway, here's the seventh chapter! enjoy and happy new year!

the school day has been one big continous loop of people asking what’s wrong and me having to promise it’s nothing because honestly, i’d rather bottle it all up than have everyone know half of what i’ve already told phil. it’s over in a blur. phil stops me in the hallway before i get to my locker.

 

“will you be staying again tonight, dan?”

“nah, i’m going home. adrian needs me there.”

“understood. if you need to come over this weekend, just call me or mum.”

“will do. thank you so much.” he nods and gives me a quick hug - which i graciously accept. he’s warm and warmth is the one thing i need more of currently.

“see you later, dan.”

“mhm. see ya.” he takes off, catching up with another friend. i finally open my locker, hearing loud, quick footsteps approaching. my notebooks are tossed in without organization and i sling my bag over my shoulders. slamming the door shut, i’m greeted by my little brother.

 

“dan, are you okay? you didn’t come home last night. mrs. lester called and talked to mum, but i didn’t ask what was going on. you’re here now though, so...”

“i stayed at phil’s last night, adrian.”

“oh. that makes sense. sorry for freaking out. anyway, you’re gonna be home tonight, yeah?”

“mhm.”

“our parents are going to be upset.”

“i know.”

“you’re not worried?”

“oh, i’m terrified. i just don’t want to put it off any longer.”

“i guess. let’s go so we don’t miss the bus.”   
“we’d be halfway through the school by now if we hadn’t stopped to speak at my locker.”

“oh. you’re right.”

 

\---

 

the ground is slippery when we get off the bus - so much so that if i wasn’t already mentally slipping, i’d be extremely concerned that i would start to fall physically. the curtains are pulled open and mom’s glaring out of our living room window. she grins at adrian, immediately grimacing once she sees me. my reciprocated expression is one in the same, causing her to walk away from the window with her head in her palm.

 

“she was really anxious last night, dan. she thought you did something drastic. i don’t think she let herself sleep until she knew you were alright.”

“well, me not being alright never seemed to bother her before.” 

“oh.” 

“relax, adrian. when we get inside, you should just run up to your room, close the door, and only come out when i tell you to. got it?”

“yeah. are you going to be okay?”

“i’m going to sit mum and dad down to talk. they deserve more than ten words scribbled on my maths homework. i’m their child and they’re not the only ones who get confused about this stuff. hopefully a nice civil conversation will change their minds.” he nods and the second we enter the house, adrian waves to our folks, exclaiming that he has ‘really important homework that he can’t do at any other time’, and running to his bedroom. mum’s already got herself a mug of tea fixed and she’s sat at the end of the dinner table farthest from me. 

 

“are you going to sit down or are you going to just stand in the corridor with your hands in your pockets?” i shuffle over hesitantly and take a seat, facing her. dad sits the paper down and glances over at me, taking a sip of coffee. 

“i could’ve handled things better. i think you could’ve too, mum.”

“how do you suppose that?”

“hmm. usually, when i tell you something, the reaction shouldn’t make me want to run away and never come back home.”

“go on.”   
“i feel like i should be able to trust you with it. i mean, you’re my mother. i’m your child. you always tell me you should be able to trust me and i don’t get why i can’t get that same respect from you.”

“are you saying i don’t respect you and that’s why you’re confused?”   
“i’m not confused. i don’t think you remember me saying that i’ve never been so sure about anything before.”   
“i do. i just genuinely don’t believe you know what you’re talking about.”

“why do you think that?”

“because nobody in their right mind would...you know.”

“like both guys and girls? it’s not a blinking mental disorder, mum.”

“it may as well be.”

“well, if i’d never told you, i’d be way better off.”

“yeah? i think i’d be better off, too.”

“well, there’s not much either of you can do to change it.” dad closes his newspaper and takes a large swig of coffee, swallowing harshly as he remembers that it’s still very hot.

“y’know, sometimes i wish mr. and mrs. lester were my parents, that way i’d have a family that loves and understands me instead of acting like i’m a diseased nuisance that they’re never going to talk to again once i move out.”

“well, that makes two of us.” her words practically pierce my chest. i get that what i said could’ve been a lot less harsh, but hearing it back, especially from my mother, just presents a whole new kind of pain. she looks almost as if she regrets saying it, but i know her. she knows no remorse.

“it’s settled, then.” both her and dad look up at me.

“what?”   
“if you don’t want me here, i’ll just go crash with the lesters.” mum drinks some of her tea, staring down at her lap while i excuse myself.

 

i run upstairs, telling adrian that mum and i have talked things out and that i won’t be back until monday. 

 

“what happened?”   
“we both said some things and i’m going over to phil’s. things will pass over, i’m sure.”

“you’re sure?”

“mhm. i don’t think she’s in the right headspace to have a bisexual son roaming around the house for the whole weekend. i think i’d end up getting crucified before breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“oh. i’m sorry, danny.” adrian follows me into my room, plopping down on my bed while i grab enough stuff for the weekend and shoot a text to phil, which simply reads:  _ hey. mum and i spoke. i guess she’d rather not have me as a son ( big surprise ) , so… can i come over this weekend? is there any chance i could come over tonight and by tonight i mean rn + asap? _

 

i place my phone on my nighstand and zip up my old bookbag which i only ever use for sleepovers and vacations, climbing onto my bed and crossing my legs. it's somber and silent for a solid minute or two before my brother's small voice pipes up.

 

“what’d she say to you, dan? what could she have said that would send you out of the house all weekend?”

“i told her that sometimes, i wish the lesters were my family. their parents, specifically. you’re alright. anyway, the lesters are understanding and treat me like i’m one of their own. our folks just act like i’m a lousy excuse for a living being.”

“yeah, i can see that.”

“mum told me, ‘well, i guess that makes two of us’. what the hell kind of parent blatantly tells their struggling child that they’d rather not be their parent? that’s fucking cruel, adrian.”

“i know, dan.”    
“i’m sorry you have to deal with all of this. you’re too young.”

“it was going to happen eventually. dates and times don’t matter. our parents were going to find out one day, whether it was yesterday or today or your wedding day.”

“i know. i just wish you weren’t in the centre of it.” he nods, giving me a hug. my cell dings from the nightstand, and it’s phil.  _ we are here. _

sure enough, when i peek out the blinds, i see martyn’s car in our driveway. i grab my weekend bag, my bookbag, and my phone charger before swiping basic necessities from the washroom. i’m out the door with slip-on vans on my feet before mum can say anything and it harshly swings shut behind me. adrian’s taken my place at the blinds in my room, looking and waving from my window. i wave back and climb into the car.

 

“i’m sorry.”

“what on god’s green earth do you have to be sorry for, daniel?” martyn retorts as we pull out of the drive, his words coated in sympathy.

“it’s slippery out. the roads aren’t fit for driving on. i could’ve walked.” 

“it’s slippery because it’s cold. neither of us wanted you to freeze.” phil’s soft, reassuring, honey-smooth voice is almost soothing compared to the angry shouting of my mother from across the dinner table.

“you guys went out of your way to pick me up.”

“that’s because we wanted to make sure you were safe. we wouldn’t have,” phil stops to make air quotes, “gone ‘out of our way’ if we didn’t want to, trust me.”   
“petrol prices are unnecessarily high. frickin’ government.” i shrug and sink further into the backseat. 

 

there are so many ways i could’ve avoided this. i could’ve picked up my papers that fell and shoved them clumsily into my bag. i could’ve told mum sooner, although the reaction might have been worse considering it’d be coming from younger dan and not now dan. 

 

she never seemed to have a problem with me before yesterday - before she found out that i’m bi. considering that it’s something i can’t change, i’ve got two options: i can either deal with the consequences or take the easy way out. believe it or not, i’d like to stick around to see what life brings and i’ve always found suicide to be pointless and overly glamourized. i guess i’ll just have to deal with the immense pressure from my parents and family and school and society and life. 

 

nothing i don’t already do. 


	8. without losing a piece of me, how will i get to heaven?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YEET WE FINALLY HAVE ANOTHER CHAPTER AFTER 18 DAYS!!!  
> seasonal depression is wack y'all  
> anyhow  
> here's the 8th chapter of HEAVEN, in which there's fINALLY DEVELOPMENT!!! WOW  
> you didn't think i could do it, did ya? you probably thought this would just be 30 chapters of dan and phil sitting in phil's room and talking and occasionally changing the conversational topic.  
> i've got news for you, pal  
> yOU WERE WRONG  
> love y'all

we’re back to where we were yesterday afternoon. i’m sat at the edge of phil’s bed and he’s on the edge opposite to me. it’s deafeningly silent in the room, an overwhelming sense of panic starting to lurch up out of my throat. if i don’t speak to him i’m going to have an attack and it won’t be pleasant for either of us. he stretches a thin, pale hand over to his nightstand, gripping his tea mug and taking a sip. he flinches and sticks his tongue out a little bit, signaling that perhaps the tea is still a little too hot.

 

“things aren’t good with your mum, then?” i know he means well in asking it. phil’s always got this caring, gentle, breezy tone coating his voice and it’s extra warm now. he’s trying to tread lightly. things obviously aren’t good with mum. otherwise, i wouldn’t be here.

“no. not at all.”

“did she say anything different?”

“i freaked out and said sometimes i wish i had parents like yours. she said the same.”

“yikes, daniel. that’s harsh.”   
“yeah.” our eyes are locked now and i’m sure he can see the tears welling up in the corners of mine because he hands me a tissue box from the stand where his tea is sat. i allow myself to cry, gratefully accepting the box and dabbing away at my eyes. “i just, i don’t know. that’s not something a mother should tell her child. maybe she was frustrated that i said it and it was just her frustration retaliating.”

“i’m sure she didn’t mean it. parents say things they don’t mean or understand sometimes.”

“right. like i said, i don’t know. it just hurt. if nothing else, i think she’s scared.”

“of?”

“mums are afraid of everything, phil. she’s probably scared i won’t have kids if i get married to a guy or that i’ll be made fun of.”

“not to be rude or anything, but she seems to be doing most of the bullying here.”

“you aren’t necessarily incorrect.” he shrugs and pulls his phone from his pocket. 

“mum wants to know what kind of pizza we’d like.”

“i’m fine with plain cheese, but if you want pepperoni or something it won’t bother me.”

“i’ll let her know.” he starts to type and i can’t help it, but my eyes become affixed on his face. he does this weird thing when he focuses on something where he scrunches up his nose and tilts his head to the side a little bit. “she said alright. in the meantime, what do you want to do?”

“i dunno. do you have mariokart?” he nods, his eyes lighting up. phil plugs in his wii and grabs a couple of controllers, tossing one in my direction. i barely catch it. the two of us pull the wrist straps on and secure them. phil presses the mariokart icon on the wii and then the “start” button, telling me he’s going to beat me miserably at this game. 

 

“we’ll see about that.” he snickers and we start the first of four races. after many muttered profanities and elbow nudges, i beat him at the first round. 

“dannn, what’d you have to do that for?”

“to prove you wrong.” i receive a look of frustration from him which he follows with a sigh of defeat. “second round?”

“fine.” surely enough, i beat him again. “how the heck did you do that?”

“i’m just good at this game, my guy. summers spent inside with adrian have given me the practice needed.”   
“that’s not fair. i just occasionally play with martyn but he’s usually at work nowadays, so i haven’t gotten around to it lately.”

“oh well. no excuses.”

“hey, we’re doing best 3 out of 4, right?”

“i guess we could.”

“can we make this third round an all-or-nothing?”

“i don’t see why not.” phil’s mouth creeps upward into a smirk and he selects rainbow road. “uh, what’re you doing?”

“all. or. nothing.”

“you realize that rainbow road is practically impossible, right?”

“not if you’re phil lester.”

“well, i’m clearly not.”

“all-or-nothing, dan. you agreed.”

“fine, i guess i did.” 

 

it’s on the third lap, the music is speeding up, and i swear i can feel my heartbeat in my throat. he’s in fifth and i’m in first. there’s no way this can possibly go wrong.

 

“blue shell! yes!”   
“what was that?”   
“blue shell. i got a blue shell!” my heart practically stops.  _ oh god.  _ i’m a fifth of the track away from the finish line when i’m abruptly struck by a flying blue shell and knocked off the road.

“yes! haha!!!” phil passes the finish line in first place, laughing in response to his newly earned victory.

“oh my god. you suck.”

“no i don’t. i just won on rainbow road.”   
“with the help of the most menacing item in the entire game, yeah! that’s not fair!”

“i believe that’s called ‘ the game ‘, danny boy.” i hit him gently in the bicep with my fist, obviously unable to stay angry at him.

 

“boys! pizza’s here!” kathryn throws the front door shut behind her, kicking off her shoes and carrying two boxes - one bigger and one half its size - into the kitchen. “i’ve also bought breadsticks, in case either of you lads would like some.”

“thank you!” phil and i shout in unison as we bolt down the stairs, trying our best to not slip downward. 

“no problem, boys. where’s martyn?”

“sleeping, i think. we probably woke him up when we were playing mariokart.”

“you two and your video games…you’d better wash your hands well before returning to play more. we don’t want those controllers getting greasy.”

“they’re already sweaty from how heated the competition got.” this response earns a chuckle from both phil and his mother.

“who won?”

“it was supposed to be me, but phil won on our all-or-nothing round.”

“it’s okay, dan. we get it. you’re a sore loser.”

“philip michael, be nice.”

“fine, mum.” he grabs a couple slices of pepperoni pizza and hands me a paper plate. “care for some ribena?”

“absolutely!” 

“mum, could you fix two glasses of ribena for us? it always tastes better when you make it for some reason.” she sighs and retrieves a set of large matching glasses from the overhead cupboard. after filling them a quarter of the way with ice and following it with water, she pours the proper amount of concentrate in and stirs the cups. 

“here you two go. eat down here so you don’t make messes.”   
“we know. thank you, again!” phil sits his pizza and ribena on the far left side of the dinner table, so i decide to sit on his right. 

 

“this evening’s been fun, phil. i almost forgot why i wasn’t at home in the first place.”

“i’m glad to know you’re enjoying it. i sure am.”

“that’s good.” 

“mhm.” digging into our pizza leads to other pizza related conversations such as “does pineapple belong here?” and “does pizza need sauce to taste good?”. it even gets as political as “is it a sin to not eat the crust?”. wild, i know. 

we reach the bottoms of our glasses and the last crumbs of our pizza before deciding to head back up for some more games. 

“don’t forget to wash your hands!”

“we won’t!” phil and i take turns scrubbing our hands once we climb up the treacherous staircase, making stupid faces in the mirror and laughing at each other. 

“i’m gonna brush my teeth. i hate that garlic aftertaste.”

“oh god, same.” we return to the sink, scrubbing some more and looking at our teeth in our reflections. 

 

“do you think we can just sit and talk, phil? no games, no phones, just sitting and talking and listening to one another?”   
“i’ve never had a problem with it before. i don’t see why i would now.” we take our usual seats, facing each other and discussing trivial topics. weather, parents, nothing we don’t discuss all the time. 

 

“do you think there’s an afterlife, phil?”

“hmm?”

“heaven and hell. purgatory even. do you buy all of that stuff?

“i don’t know. it’s too divisive. i’d like to imagine i’d wind up in heaven if it exists. i’m a good person.”   
“everyone always says gay people go to hell or that god hates them. i’m scared of that. it could be what my mother’s scared of, too.”   
“in theory, if there was a god and he created everyone in the way that they were supposed to be from the start, why would he send you somewhere for people who betray that?”

“that’s a good way of looking at it.”   
“i guess so. it’s what mum always says to me whenever family members joke about it.”

“you’re so lucky. your parents are understanding and they don’t demand that you act one way or another.”   
“they’re very relaxed about that kind of stuff, i suppose.”

“mhm.” i glance back up from my now-twiddling thumbs. his eyes are locked with mine and for a second i shut mine as to cut off any awkward tension. not that there’d be any from his side or anything. 

“can i tell you something?”

“what is it?” my heartbeat starts playing up and i feel like vomiting. 

“i’ve noticed random stuff lately and i’m not sure if it’s intentional or not but i feel like it is. just a little bit.”   
“hmm? like what?”

“i don’t know. you look at me when i do random stuff. you avoid eye contact. you appreciate hugs a lot more than normal people do. if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you’re into me, howell.”

“what?”

“i mean, it’s okay if you are. if you like someone you shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”   
“what makes you assume that i like you like that?”

“why are you being so defensive?”   
“i’m not being defensive!”   
“yes you are, dan.”   
“hmm. got me there.”   
“so, what is it?”   
“what is what?”   
“whatever you’re feeling toward me. what is it?”   
“look, phil. i’m not sure. i feel nice and understood and warm when i’m around you. you listen to me and maybe i’m just in need of some listening ears, but it means a lot. i’ve never felt that way about anybody else before.”   
“okay..?”

“what?”

“what am i supposed to get from that?”

“i like you, okay? i have feelings for and about you and i just enjoy you a lot.”

“well, that’s reassuring. so i can kiss you now, right?” his tone changes and his eyes are back to mine.   
“you-what?”   
“quit saying what. it’s a yes or no question.”   
“i mean, i certainly wouldn’t be opposed.” naturally, the black haired boy leans in and gives me a gentle peck on the forehead. he pulls back quicker than he leaned in and it seems as if he’s afraid he’s done something wrong.

 

i rather enjoyed it myself.


	9. maybe i don't want heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is basically just dan and phil making out and sharing feelings and dan contemplating his existence.  
> suicide is mentioned, so be careful when reading this chapter if suicide is a triggering topic for you.  
> enjoy!

“i didn’t make it awkward or anything, did i?”

“no. at least, i don’t think so.”

“okay. good.” he’s got a concerned expression and i can tell he’s overthinking everything that just happened. i check my phone, seeing that i’ve got zero notifications and that it’s approximately 10 at night. i could easily fall asleep now but i’ve got the feeling that phil would like to speak to me. he always does. “is it okay if i turn out the light?”

“feel free.” the boy dashes across his room, flicking the switch and twirling back to his bed. the rainbow lights are still shining against his headboard and an ethereal glow settles over the whole room.

 

we take our usual conversational seats across from each other.

“so, uh…”

“if this is about you kissing me just now, you don’t have to feel bad or weird or anything for it.”

“okay.” a hush falls between us. “can i do it again? like, not right now, obviously, but. y’know. eventually.”

“yeah. i wouldn’t mind.”

“that’s reassuring.” my lips curve upward and i nod.

 

“y’know, dan?”

“hmm?”

“you’re going to be alright. maybe not this weekend, maybe not this month, maybe not until you graduate. but i think you’re going to end up feeling okay.”

“you think so?” he pulls me in for a hug and i rest my head on his shoulder accordingly.

“yeah. i think so. you just need some time to grow up and see the world and realize that keeping people around isn’t a necessity if they make you unhappy.”

“i guess.”

“after all, we’re just kids. life happens. change happens. as long as you hold out and hold on, it’s bound to get better.” our hug grows tighter and i breathe a heavy sigh.

“thank you, phil.”

 

“if this isn’t a weird time, i’d like to ask you something.”

“shoot.”

“are we a thing now? i mean, i kissed you and you said i could do it again. i just wanna know if it’s a stable object. us, i mean. it being us.”

“quit your rambling. if that’s something you’d like, i’m fine with it.”

“cool, cool. that...god. nice. wow.” he starts back up on his rambling and i have the sudden urge to shut him up with my lips on his.

“you can kiss me again. that way you stop rambling.”

“uh-okay.”

 

and he does. this time he goes for my lips and i kind of lean back, feeling his arms wrap around me as we both lie down. the two of us sink into it, keeping it solely lips and hugging. it’s the first time i’ve ever done this. i decide to let him take the lead and i follow his actions with whatever feels right. i can’t help but open my eyes after a few moments. his are already open and i fear they’ve been like that for the whole time. i break our mouths apart to breathe as well as speak.

 

“were you looking at me that whole time?”

“not the whole time. i just liked looking at you occasionally.”

“oh.” we simply stay there, breathing lightly and taking sheer delight in each other’s presence. “this is nice, phil.”

“all i’m doing is pressing my mouth on yours.”

“yeah, i know, but i enjoy it.” he offers a wide, toothy grin before we return to our previous state. i take note of the fact that his lips are extremely smooth compared to my winter weather-chapped ones.   
  
“dan?”

“yeah?”

“do you remember the other night, when i told you that i worry about you and i just want you to be happy?”

“yeah. it was yesterday.”

“oh. i guess you’re right. haha.”

“what about it?”  
“i meant it when i said it. you worry me sometimes. when you’re quiet and standoffish and don’t want to speak to anyone, it scares me.” phil’s voice takes on a different tone that, even when we’ve discussed mum and my family, i’ve never heard before.

“i get that. i just need time to myself sometimes.”

“i know. when i said i never want to lose you, i meant that too. i don’t know what i’d do if i lost you. with how we are or how we’ve ever been. i can’t imagine not having you around.”

“i know, phil. i’m not suicidal or anything, if that’s what you’re wondering.” he shakes his head.

“i’m not suggesting that, daniel. i just need you to be sure of it. that i mean everything i say.”

“i am.”

“are you?” the look he gives me is doubtful and i have to reassure him that i truly do believe what he says when he says it. “good.”

 

i can’t help but feel sorry for phil. his heart is evidently too big and he gets too attached because of it. things happen to people. people go places. places cease to exist. do i think he’s foolish for feeling sentiment and falling in love? no, i most certainly do not.

 

do i think he’s foolish for feeling sentiment and falling in love with someone as unstable and upset as me? absolutely. yeah, i told him i’m not suicidal or anything. to tell the truth, i can’t stand living. being bisexual in itself has eaten away at me regardless of how i look at it. mum and dad argue all the time, whether it’s about work or the dishes or dad not paying any attention and sticking to his books, briefcases, and bulletproof coffee with no intention of changing his routine. adrian and i stick to each other and nobody else. that could be why i’ve developed severe trust issues. i wouldn’t say i’m suicidal, just that i don’t like being alive. it isn’t like i want to kill myself or anything. that’d be pointless and would solve virtually nothing. i don’t really know how i feel or who i am at this point.

 

the only thing i know for sure is that one way or another, i know i’m going to hell. 


	10. like the rain to the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suicide is mentioned again here, so be careful reading this if suicide is a triggering subject for you.

the weekend passes and i am reminded that, once again, i must return home and deal with  an angry mum, a pushover dad, and a confused adrian. phil and i walk side-by-side through the hallways to our lockers and i so badly want to rest my head on his shoulder and hold his hand. i decide against it for my own good. 

 

“you riding the bus?”

“yeah.”

“okay. stay warm, dan. if plans don’t change, i’ll see you tomorrow.” he ruffles the curls atop my head, smiling just enough that the corners of his eyes wrinkle a little. the boy’s seemingly cold eyes are bright with life, overflowing with the sheer enjoyment of existence. i can’t help but grin in response to his expression.

“okay. tell your parents thanks again for this weekend. i hope i didn’t impose or anything.”

“of course not. you’re always welcome under the lester family roof. i’ll thank the folks again for you. i’m sure this morning’s gratitude over breakfast was enough.”

“well, just in case.” he chuckles and zips up his bag as we part ways. once he leaves, i see adrian sprinting down the hall toward me.

 

“what’s up, a?”

“you’re coming home tonight, yeah?”

“mhm. i’m planning on staying, too.”

“good. i don’t know if i can deal with all that tension. dad’s too spooked to speak and mom won’t shut up about you.”   
“is she angry?”

“not with you.” 

“oh?”

“she’s just worried that she’s been a bad parent.”

“only now?” i slam my locker after retrieving my things and we walk toward the buses. he shrugs, trying not to get too upset over the whole situation. i pat him on the shoulder, reminding him that it’s absolutely not his fault and he’s the only stable part of this entire family.

“anyway, i was wondering if we could play some video games tonight. or maybe a game of checkers? i don’t know. just something preoccupying so you aren’t too bothered by everything that’s happened.”

“that would be great. it really would.” 

“nice. y’know, i missed you over the weekend.”

“i know. i missed you too.” the two of us continue to weave through the packed corridor until we get outside and to the buses. the ride home is quick and cold and i want nothing more than to just go home, bundle myself up in a bunch of blankets, and stay there until tomorrow morning. i don’t want to deal with mom or dad and their incessant questioning. i don’t want to argue with either of them, although it’s usually a hobby of mine. 

 

i just want to feel at home in the building that’s been my supposed home for the past 14 and a half years.

 

\---

 

“dan, it’s your turn.” adrian taps my knee, jolting a little when i turn to face him. we’re in my room playing checkers. my mind is somewhere else entirely, attempting to focus on anything other than the roof under which i currently sit. i move a red piece over one of his black pieces and he gives me a death glare, to which i respond with a smirk.

“that’s no fair!”

“how is it not fair? i’m literally just playing the game.”

“yeah, but it’s still not fair.”   
“whatever you say, buddy.” he perches over the board, attempting to see all possible solutions. my brain continues its wandering and i end up getting stuck on the whole “not suicidal, but can’t just stand living” thing. i think about mom and dad and how they probably wouldn’t care what happens. i think of adrian and how he’d deal with me not being around. i can’t even imagine how phil would feel, with his whole “you’re going to be alright one day” spiel. i couldn’t just walk out on people like that, no matter how much i’d want to. 

 

then again, my parents haven’t seemed to care too much that i haven’t been home. it’s going to be something that’s a lot more frequent soon, considering that i’d rather be with phil and his family than anybody else. adrian’s visibly bothered that i haven’t been home for the past few nights and in turn, i’m upset as well. i don’t want to leave him behind, but i can’t stand this house anymore. i could always call and ask how he’s doing, but that would just make the two of us miss each other more and could pose as an invitation for other people to call and ask how i’m doing. there doesn’t seem to be a suitable solution to what i’m feeling.

 

“dan?”

“yeah, adrian?”

“i think you’re going to win.” he pushes one of his pieces over and i’m able to jump over three of his. i take full advantage of the opportunity, picking up his pieces and tossing them to my side. he pouts and reluctantly moves his last piece over. i jump over it with one of my kings and succesfully beat him. 

“i think you were right.” he gives me a “hmph” that whooshes up the ends of his hair that’s “not quite as curly” as mine - he curses it on the daily for only being inconvenient enough to have to do something with it. we pick up the checkers and fold up the board before placing them in the box. 

“that was fun, even though i lost.”

“you’re a sore loser, kiddo.”

“i’m not a sore loser! i just hate when i don’t win.”

“so you’re a sore loser.” he sits the box back on the shelf in his room and returns, shaking his head.

 

“you hate it here, don’t you?”   
“what do you mean?

“you don’t like living here anymore, do you? not since you and mom had that fight, at least.”

“i don’t enjoy calling people family if they don’t respect me in the same way.”   
“you don’t hate me, do you?”

“i couldn’t. i wouldn’t, ever. i have no reason to hate you and i wouldn’t try conjuring a reason to.” he gives me a soft grin and i open my arms to give him a hug. 

“promise?”

“promise.” 

“do you hate mom?”

“i don’t hate her. i certainly don’t like her, though.”

“what about dad?”

“he never expresses emotions. why should i?”

“hmm. makes sense.”

 

we continue to talk for a few minutes and i tell him what all happened this weekend. 

 

“do you like him?”

“what? who?”

“phil. you’ve got a look on your face when you talk about him. it’s fine if you do. i’m just wondering.”

“well…”   
“well?” 

“we’re kind of boyfriends.”

“aww, that’s cute.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. you two have that...dynamic. y’know?”   
“i think i get what you mean.” he shrugs. 

“it just seems right.”

 

i would agree if my parents didn’t try and convince me that my feelings are nothing but wrong.


	11. the lines that i trace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter, dan makes a discovery that's quickly going to send him reeling in a downward spiral and is going to send phil into a worrying fit even quicker.
> 
> self harm and suicide will be mentioned in this chapter and from here on out, so if you're triggered by those or just don't wanna read about them, make the right decision for yourself to not read the rest of it. then again, it was in the tags so if you clicked on it and you're wondering where that stuff is, it's coming into the story now. hate to bum you out, buddies.

for the rest of the evening, i just lie in bed and scroll through my computer. once i log in on twitter, i’m greeted mostly by recycled memes and people being mad at the government.  _ my soul. _ i decide to switch over to tumblr, which is usually the original source of the memes and where everyone complains about their parents and my chemical romance. again,  _ my soul. _

 

my mind wanders and i close out of both windows, opening up a new tab and questioning the all-powerful oracle that is google, “what do do if i want to die” most results are helplines and yahoo! answers, so i delete that search and try again with “symptoms of people who want to die”. there’s a list on a mental health resource website that lists symptoms such as “acting anxious or agitated” and “talking about feeling trapped or in unbearable pain”. i mean, i feel trapped in this house and my feelings continue to get hurt by people i thought were caring about me.

 

i click the search bar at the top and type in “solutions for suicidal feelings”. there’s a link for a website about self harm, and out of curiosity, i click on it. it essentially covers all the ways someone can hurt themselves without taking it too far and i end up clicking off before i finish reading it. a couple of the things i read in the article stick in my mind and no matter how much i try to rid my thoughts of them, they keep coming back. i mean, i’ve seen people with scars and stuff before, but i don’t ever think anything of it besides they never make a deal of it. now that i know what they come from, it makes me wonder a lot. does that really distract them from bigger problems, and if it does, can it help me stop thinking about how much my parents would rather have any other child than me?

 

“hey, adrian?” my brother peeks his head out of his room.

“yeah, dan?”

“have you already showered tonight?”

“mhm, why?”   
“i’m going to take mine.”

“okay. i think we’re out of towels in there, so grab one out of the hall closet.” 

“gotcha, bro.” he closes his door and i continue to head in for a shower. i remember the article saying that most of the time, people prefer to do that stuff where nobody can see it for the sake of parents, friends, and teachers not finding out. dad keeps these refills for his old fashioned razors in the cabinet underneath the towels and i sneak one out by placing it in my front pocket. the bathroom door swings shut behind me and i take off my shirt, turning on the shower and setting the heat as high as i can stand it without boiling to death. while i wait for the water to heat up, i pull the tiny double-sided razor blade out of its individual wrapping and stare at it for a little while.

 

it’s an irreversible choice. whatever i do is going to stay on my body forever and every time i look at myself in the mirror before a shower, i’m going to see it. that’s what i’m going to remember: the stinging and pain and anger and warmth of bright red trickling down snow white. it’s not necessarily what i want to do, but it’s better than bottling up all my feelings, right?

 

i settle for the inside of my right upper arm, that way if i wear a tee, it’ll still be covered by the sleeves. the cold metal burns as it drags through the tender skin and i let out a choked-up sob. i don’t want it to feel good. i don’t want to let myself believe that this is what i’m supposed to be feeling because i don’t ever want to feel it again. i repeat the action a few more times, trying not to go deeper as i continue. soon, there’s ten burning, jagged lines that glare out from paper white. this isn’t how i wanted it to go at all.

 

despite my digressions, there is a sense of calmness that takes over once it’s done. the fact that i can feel it and am willing to recognise that it was my decision to hurt myself reminds me that i am still conscious and know what i am doing. i hop into the shower after cleaning the razor off and try my best to avoid the cuts that have defaced my otherwise clean body. scrubbing my arm has to be one of the most excruciating experiences i’ve put myself through since i broke my arm riding my bike. i towel off, put band-aids on the three at the bottom that have yet to stop bleeding, and get dressed in my typical pyjamas: a sweatshirt and some fluffy pants to keep warm. moving and bending my arm hurts almost worse than bloodying it up did in the first place.

 

i’ve got two notifications on my cell when i return to my bedroom, bundling up in a few blankets and attempting to calm my crying down. i fail anyway and continue to sob. one is a _missed call: phil lester_ and the other is a text from phil asking _where are you?_ i send him a reply of right here, porquoi? i appreciate that he’s checking in, but i’m nervous that he’s going to question me. 

 

_ just wondering. wanna chat? _

sure.

_ mom really appreciates that you feel safe at our house. _

_ you’re welcome under the lester roof any time. any time at all. got that? _

yeah, got it.

_ you good? _ _  
_ mhm. why?

_ idk, just wondering. _

you’re wondering about a lot of things, huh?

_ yeah. sorry about insinuating some things i shouldn’t have. _

like?

_ idk. i guess that when i get worried about you, i act like you’re going to do something stupid or whatever. you’re smart, dan. i trust you and i should stop acting that way. _

_ i mean, i  _ **_can_ ** _ trust you, yeah? _ _  
_ yeah, phil. as long as i can trust you.

_ you’ve got my word, sweet boy. _

we’re making nicknames for each other now?

_ i mean, i just feel like sweet boy fits. _

i suppose. i gotta think of one for you.

craig?   
_ what _

_ why craig _

_ that’s not even remotely close to anything in my name _

_ why would my nickname be craig _

_ daniel  _

haha i was joking

_ good. i think i’d rather die than have the nickname craig _

oof. hey, i’ll get back to you later with a nickname.

i’m kinda busy rn

_ busy with what?? ;)))) _

you said you can trust me. i trust you not to ask.

_ ugh, fine.  _

_ i miss you, dan _

i miss you too phil. maybe i’ll come over tomorrow?

_ look out your window _

what

okay

 

i stand up and walk to my window. 

 

phil oh my god

is that martyn’s car

where is he

are you driving?   
_ i’m allowed to drive friends now! _

_ perks of being one of the oldest kids in our grade i guess _

_ runt _

_ lol. _

_ wanna take a ride? _

_ you can stay over tonight _

 

i hold up my index finger as to signal “one moment, you dork. i’ve gotta get my things” and gather up my stuff. mom glances as i stomp down the stairs and seems as if she’s going to ask where i’m going. she doesn’t make a sound. at the front door, i slide on a pair of shoes and zoom out the door. i’m glad i grabbed a coat; it’s colder than hell out here. 

 

“you’ve gotta take the passenger’s seat, danny boy.”

“i wasn’t planning on driving.”

“good.”

“y’know, i’m glad you’re here. i was starting to get anxious up in my room. mom didn’t even make dinner for me.”

“your mom sucks.”   
“i know.” 

“anyway, i was thinking we could go to my house and relax and just talk?”

“that would be nice.”

“are you sure you’re alright?”

“yeah.” 

 

we roll up to a stoplight and he glances over.

 

“dan, i’m not an idiot. your face is splotchy and you never say sure unless you’re not sure of what you’re saying. what’s going on?”

“nothing, phil. i’m fine.” phil reaches over to grab my arm and i jerk away.

“what the hell is your problem?” he pulls martyn’s car over to the side of the road and puts it in park before returning his focus to me. “please, daniel. tell me what’s going on with you. your mom didn’t hurt you, did she?”   
“she wouldn’t. not physically at least.”

“did someone hurt you? why are you so skiddish all of a sudden?” i keep my mouth closed and his face obtains a new disappointed look i can’t say i’ve seen on him before. “you said i could trust you. what’s happening in that brain of yours, howell? am i going to lose you sooner than i got you?”

 

“i...uh, it’s not that simple to explain.” 

 

“this car is stopped and it will not start again until you tell me what you’re hiding up your slee-oh.  _ oh. _ you’re not cutting yourself, dan. right? you wouldn’t do that?”   
“you don’t know everything about me, phil.” he lets out a sigh and it feels like 10,000 tonnes of pressure have just settled in the air.

“do you need a hospital?”   
“no, i took care of it. what i need is sleep. please, can we just go to your house?”

“i guess so, dan. i’m sorry. i didn’t know.”

“you couldn’t have. i didn’t tell you.”

“i just want you to be safe. i don’t want you to be hurting mentally or physically.”

“well, it’s going to take some time to get there.”   
“it doesn’t matter how much time it takes as long as it happens eventually.” he takes my right hand in his left after starting the car back up and continues driving to his house. “just hold on, dan. please?”

“okay.”

“promise?”

“mhm.” 

 

to think i used to believe that it was going to be okay is almost depressing at this point.

  
  



	12. to find some release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter, dan explains the cause of his newfound crisis and phil listens with open ears, an open mind, and arms prepared to embrace him. dan and phil also discuss the topics of confusion and when it's right for someone to truly know. 
> 
> self harm is mentioned, so proceed with caution pals.

“phil, you’ve already driven, i see.”

“yep. i took martyn’s car because i couldn’t find your keys, mum.”

“in my purse where they always are.”

“i didn’t know where your purse was.”  
“on the coat rack where it always is.”   
“we have a coat rack?” kathryn tussles her son’s hair and glimpses over at me with a grin. i wave.

 

“back again, daniel?”  
“yeah. phil kinda bombarded my house and snatched me up. anywhere’s better than home right now, i guess.”

“well, i’m sure phil’s made it rather clear that you’re welcome here whenever you need a break or just want to hang out. he talks about you all the time, like you’re here even after you’ve left.”

“ma!” phil crosses his arms and turns to hide the overly evident blush on his face.

“what, son? it’s the truth.”

“anyway, dan and i are heading upstairs.”  
“fine, i’ll leave you two to it. i’ll be in the living room.” the two of us give her a thumbs-up and bustle toward the stairs.

 

our bed seats are taken after the door is closed.

 

“why’d you do it?”

“do what?”

“don’t be a ninny. you know what.”

“oh. i guess i wanted a distraction. something to keep my mind off of family.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“does your family still exist?”  
“yes.”

“then i guess it’s not effective enough. you should stop.” _i could do it more but that wouldn’t change the position i’m in right now._

“maybe so.”

“not maybe. definitely. people do crazy stuff once they get bored of hurting themselves.”  
“so now you’re knowingly stating that i’m suicidal when i never said once that i am.”   
“you can’t be in a proper state of mind if that’s what you’re doing with your free time.”

“look, just because i cut myself once doesn’t mean i want to off myself, phil.”

“i’m still going to worry, regardless.”

“all everyone ever does anymore is worry about me.”

“i want you to be okay, dan.” the boy wraps his arms around me and pulls me in close.

 

no matter how much i want to cry, i can’t seem to bring myself to tears. i rest my chin on his sturdy, somewhat sharp right shoulder and sigh.

“i’m just so tired.”

“i can’t blame you. i can’t imagine how rough home is.”

“it’s worse to be ignored than to be insulted, y’know? i’d rather know that my parents hate me than wonder what they’re feeling.”   
“yeah. i mean, my family’s never been that bad, but some of my relatives were unnecessarily standoff-ish when i came out. it’s better now.”   
“that’s the thing. it’s getting better for you all the time. your family just opens their arms and welcomes you. they’re aware that you’re not changing. my family doesn’t get it. they’re so assured that it’s just a phase, you know? i’m sure if i was just gay it wouldn’t be that difficult.”

“they think you’re confused.”  
“am i?”   
“that’s for you to decide, dan.”

 

that resonates with me. it’s definitely not a choice, and it’s one-hundred percent how i feel. i can’t change that. i mean, i’m entirely positive that i like people when i like them.

 

“i’m not confused, phil. you know that.”  
“they don’t. they’re not going to understand it, your family. you can’t just let them tell you how you feel.”

“i suppose you’re right.”

“do you wanna play a game? we’ve got the new super smash bros. martyn doesn’t like playing it because he doesn’t know how it works, but i enjoy it.”

“i wouldn’t mind that.”

“cool. i’ll grab the switch from his room.”

 

he comes back after a few short moments, plugging the switch in and tossing me a controller.

 

“i’m gonna kick your ass, philip.”  
“bold statement, coming from you.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“which one of us won mariokart?”

“you, because you _cheated._ ”

“hey, you didn’t have to accept the all-or-nothing.” i cross my arms and give him a fake whine.

“wait, phil, what if we just played as the most pointless characters on here?”

“are we both playing as the wiifit trainer then?”

“sure.”

 

half an hour later, our fighters are jumping and flipping around on the screen, yoga-posing and inflicting little-to-no damage to one another. it’s funnier to watch than you’d think.

 

“well, i’m bored now.”  
“i’m kind of tired.” phil nods and replies with a yawn.

“how about we sleep, then?”

“i’m not opposed.” he turns the tv and the switch off. “can you, uh…”  
“can i what?”   
“can you hold me?”   
“i don’t know why i wouldn’t be able to.” he pulls his covers up to his chest, allowing me to lie next to him. “are you okay?”   
“yeah. my arm hurts, and i feel like an idiot, but i’m okay. i think.”

“that’s good. are you warm enough?”  
“phil, there are ten blankets on your bed. do you think i’m cold?”   
“i can grab anot-”   
“no need. i’m warm enough.”

“okay.”

 

phil pulls me closer, resting his head on my shoulder. “i like you a lot, dan. i don’t want you being mean to yourself. you might not feel that way about yourself, but i do. i know my family cares for you a whole lot, even if yours doesn’t. i know i probably say it too much, but you deserve to feel alright.”

“i know.”

“it’s going to sound weird, dan, but do you mind if i see your arm?” i automatically tense up and move my left arm to cover my right.

“i don’t know.”

“you don’t have to show me if you don’t want. i just want to see. just so i can know what to look out for.”

“fine.” i lift my shirt over my head and extend my arm so that he can see it. three of them still have bandaids, but the other ones are visible and overly vivid. he gasps, and that’s when i understand the intensity of what i’ve done.

 

“dan, you did that?”

“yeah.”

“i mean, you explained why you did it already, but god. i don’t get it.”

“i don’t ever want to do it again, if that reassures you.”

“please _don’t_ ever do it again.” he hugs me, and i can finally bring myself to tears. heat stings the sides of my face in two unforgiving, salted streams. i’d promise i wouldn’t, but between my sobs and the fact that i’m not entirely sure i can promise that, i just wrap my arms around his waist and cry. his clothed upper body is warm against my cold chest, and i can’t tell whether it’s calming or terrifying. “you can put your shirt back on, dan.” he hands me the sweatshirt i was wearing before. i pull it back over my head and rustle my arms back through the sleeves, calming down drastically before speaking again.

“i’m sorry, phil. i’m stupid.”

“you aren’t. everyone makes bad decisions. it doesn’t make you stupid.”

“i guess i didn’t know i needed to hear that until now.”

“well, if you ever need any more reassuring affirmations, i’m your guy.” he runs a hand through my hair, kissing my forehead. “you should sleep, dan. i can tell that you’re tired.”  
“oh, i’m exhausted.”

“me too.”

“goodnight, then.”  
“goodnight, sweet boy.” he turns off the light, falling asleep after a few short moments of silent solitude.

 

all i can do is listen to his soft, steady, sleepy breaths and try imagining when i’ll be able to sleep like he does - not panicked, not anxious, not worrying about whether or not my family’s going to acknowledge my existence the next day. phil knows who he is and who deserves to know that, but i’m still figuring all this out.

  



	13. the picture i paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dan's mother wants him home again.  
> dan's terrified and tries to play it cool.

at 5:30am, i make the realization that it’s so incredibly odd to wake up next to someone who’s still asleep. you aren’t sure what they’re dreaming of, or what they’re thinking of. their mind and your mind are in two entirely different places. my mind is in an extreme state of worry and general frustration. i’m sure phil’s worrying as well, considering yesterday’s events. 

 

i wish i was at home. adrian’s probably scared out of his mind, wondering when i’m going to come back home. mom and dad don’t care what i do. i want to sleep in my own bed, have a sense of privacy, and not preoccupy my thoughts with trying to keep phil from worrying. then again, i’d have to put on a straight face (and a straight front), keep myself from speaking out, and not preoccupy my parents’ thoughts with whether or not i’m still a good son. liking who i like and loving who i love shouldn’t dictate that. i can’t stress that enough. i mean, god, what if adrian ended up being gay? what if he was accidentally outed and the same exact thing happens to him? are my parents sincerely  _ that _ afraid of their children being something other than what they are? 

 

they don’t have the right to be afraid of their own son. 

 

i decide to check my phone, figuring that it’ll be another hour or so before phil’s up. there’s a few texts from adrian, and one from my mum. all of them are from around midnight. i’m not entirely sure why she wants to talk to me. the texts from adrian are, in this specific order: “hey.” “check your phone.” “hello?” and the one from mum reads “daniel, please come home.” i hit the text box and begin typing. 

 

what makes you think i want to be there?

i’m not going to intentionally spend time in a house where i don’t feel safe.

you shouldn’t expect me to, either.

 

she’s still sleeping - i know that for a fact - but i’d like to see her response when she wakes up to that. on the other hand, i receive another text from adrian. 

 

_ i know you’re awake, dan _

_ i heard mum’s phone go off _

_ and nobody would ever text her _

_ i can tell you’re reading these _

_ you have read receipts on  _

_ haha _

god, adrian

what do you want

_ did you see mum’s text? i’m assuming you did _

yes

why

_ are you gonna come home? _

_ it’s too quiet here _

_ too awkward _

_ i think mum and dad are coming around _

_ at least i hope they are _

i doubt it

_ mom was the one who sent it, after all. _

_ we miss you. at least i know i do _

fine. i’ll be home after school tonight.

love you

_ love you too _

 

maybe we’ll have an awkward dinner where i say absolutely nothing. mum will ask how my day was and i’ll shrug. if she pries for information i’ll go upstairs and ignore her. dad will either laugh or sit on the couch, ignoring all of us like he always does. adrian will follow me and then mum will realize that she’s in the wrong. or maybe mum will hug me and cry and tell me she’s  _ so terribly sorry _ that she doesn’t treat her bisexual son like a human. perhaps it’ll be the same as it was, and she’ll constantly remind me of the fact that she thinks i’m confused. i don’t know what to expect, and that’s what scares me the most.

 

around 6:30, phil turns over, greeting me with a “good morning.” 

“g’morning.” 

“did you sleep well?”

“i’ve been up for an hour, almost. i guess i got enough sleep.”

“you slept for six hours, dan.”

“you slept for seven. what’s your point?” he smiles, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head. his hair is a little messy from having slept on it, but it looks soft, and he looks pretty. 

“should i ask mum to make breakfast?”

“i could eat, yeah.” he shoots a text to his mother, who i can assume is already awake and downstairs. 

 

“are you feeling better today?” 

“i’m not sure. it’s too early to tell.” no. that’s not it at all. if i’m telling the truth, i feel terrible. i have since i came out against my own will to my dumb, homophobic mother. i don’t feel an ounce of okay-ness whatsoever.

“well, that’s better than a ‘no’, i suppose.” i nod and grab the bag holding all of my clothing, carrying it into the washroom so that i can get dressed. the strip of lights above the mirror shines brightly, highlighting the scarlet lines that cast themselves out from the otherwise pale surface of my inner-upper-arm. i don’t know how i’m going to explain that to my family - when we’re on holiday or visiting our grandparents’ in the summer. an unnecessary amount of swimming happens regardless of location, and i’m not about to be the centre of attention solely based on the fact that they’ll be able to see these as scars, still vivid and still casting themselves out from my skin. the only difference is that i’ll be tan by then.

 

after deciding on a blue sweatshirt and some ripped black jeans, i head down the stairs. 

 

“rise and shine, daniel!”

“good morning, mrs. lester.” 

“you look exhausted.”

“well, i’ve been up since 5:30.”

“oh dear. hopefully you can take a nap when you get out of school this afternoon.”   
“i hope so.” she tosses a pancake, some scrambled eggs, and a slice of toast on a plate, sitting it to the side. 

“what would you like to drink?”

“orange juice is fine.” kathryn pours a glass and hands it to me along with the plate. 

“syrup?”

“of course.” 

“grab it from the fridge then. what do you take me for?” she laughs and leaves the room. i open the fridge, grabbing syrup. soon enough, phil joins me at the table with all his stuff for school. 

 

“you aren’t eating breakfast?” 

“nah, i usually don’t. upsets my stomach, i suppose.” 

“makes sense.”

“yeah.”

“mum wants me to go home.”

“what? why?”

“adrian says he thinks mum and dad are coming around. apparently the house is quiet and awkward without me.”

“are you going to go, then?”   
“i guess. i can’t avoid home forever.”

“i mean, you could.”   
“doesn’t mean i’m going to.” he shrugs and grabs a bottled water from the fridge, tossing it into his bookbag.  _ i really want to, though. _


	14. without changing a part of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amidst dan's internal struggling and a dinner full of slight micro-aggressions from his mom, phil's mother calls.
> 
> the news isn't favourable.

i’m lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling with all the little glow-in-the-dark stars we stuck up when i was 5. dinner could have gone a whole lot worse than it did. it also could’ve gone better.

 

for reference, here’s a nice little recap.

 

we’re sat at the table, eating spaghetti, when mum starts conversation.  
“so, how was it? staying with the lesters, i mean.”

“it’s been nice. i enjoy spending time with their family.”

“that’s good.”

 

the sounds of forks scraping ceramic plates is almost deafening. it’s the recurring song of suburban dinner. the harmony of anxious wine sips and slurps of noodles mixed with the melody of disturbed, distracted, diatribe-esque conversation. it’s terrifying, that symphony of disappointment, disapproval, and distaste, but i hear it all the time.

 

“yeah.”

“did anything interesting happen? did you boys play any games?”

“yeah, we played mariokart and super smash bros.”

“that sounds fun.”  
“mhm.” adrian grabs another piece of garlic bread, scooping some pasta onto it before chowing down. “i’m dating phil now.”

 

then the table goes quiet.

“you’re _what?_ ”

“dating phil. he’s my boyfriend.”

“oh.” dad closes his newspaper and leaves the room, probably heading to his study or bed - anywhere that isn’t the table with all the tension and silence.

“how long has that been going on?”

“a while. i didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t listen, and with how you were acting, you probably would’ve just found it as another reason to throw me out.”

“i’m sorry you felt that way, dan.”

“so, what’s got you changing your mind?”

“i talked to some of the other mothers at church. one of them has a lesbian daughter - you know how girls are these days-”

“what does that even mean?” i don’t think she realizes that what she’s saying isn’t helping her case all that much.  
“let me finish. anyway, she was telling me that her daughter’s already dealing with enough at school and work, so there’s no reason for her to be another cause of struggle. i figured, you’re in your freshman year of high school and you’ve already got enough on your plate.”

“i suppose that’s valid. it’s nice to know you feel that way now.”

“i’m just not sure how i feel about you being with philip. i mean, he’s a nice boy, but what’s going to happen if you two split? are you going to stay friends?”

“you know what? that’s none of your concern.”

“i guess you’re right.” i finish my food and sit my dishes in the sink. i’m lucky the conversation didn’t make me lose my appetite, because the spaghetti was the only good part of that entire dinner.

“i’m going to bed.”

“already? it’s only eight, daniel.”  
“yeah. i’ve got homework.”

“okay. i love you!”

“mhm.”

“mum? can i go upstairs too?”

“sure, adrian.” he follows suit, leaping up the stairs behind me to do actual work.

 

so, here i am - bed. i don’t have homework; i never do. my phone buzzes in my pants pocket, which reminds me that i’m still in my school clothes.

 

“adrian, did mum do laundry?”  
“yep. yours are already in your dresser and closet. she didn’t want you to have to put it away on your own.”

“that’s lovely.” i grab a set of pyjamas and briefs, making a beeline to the washroom. i don’t bother to look in the mirror because i already know what i’m going to see. i don’t want to put my brain through viewing my stupid decisions.

 

the shower water is hot, the showering is less painful, and i’m finding more and more that i don’t cry on command. i’m not going to cry if i want to. it doesn’t matter how much i need to get it out, my body will not let me cry until it sees fit.

 

\---

 

there i am again - bed. my phone has a few notifications, all of which are from kathryn. one missed call and two texts. the texts read, “daniel, can you check your phone?” and “it’s urgent.” i decide to call her back as soon as i read the second one.  

 

“mrs. lester, what’s wrong?”

“we can’t find phil. is he at your house?” my stomach drops.  
“no. i haven’t seen him since french class today.”

“oh god. i’m sorry for bothering you, daniel.”

“no, it’s fine. do you need help trying to find him?”

“i’m not even sure where to look.”

“are the cars in the drive?”

“martyn’s isn’t. oh no.”

“do you have a car tracker or anything?”

“i can ask martyn. i’ll call you back, okay?”

“mhm. let me know if you need anything, please?”  
“will do.” the line goes dead and i sit my phone down.

 

there’s a crushing feeling in my chest, like the weight of the entire universe has just fallen on my ribcage. the 10-year-old, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling simply seem like distant, spiraling dots in a constantly spinning room. i can’t tell whether i’m about to vomit, hyperventilate, or keel over sobbing. the dinnertime symphony in my head grows into a headache-inducing, discordant tune of anger, anxiety, and pure nausea.

 

i’m not even sure where phil is. his family doesn’t know, either, but something seemed off at breakfast and i’m hoping that wasn’t the start of an irreversible end. my shoulders are shaking; the corners of my eyes sting. that’s when i realize that this is when i cry. when the world feels like it’s crashing around me, when the world feels like it’s against me. when my chest feels empty and so does my head. the fact of my own misery in the presence of the misery of others is what causes the hot streams of clear saltwater to stain my face.

 

in the midst of my misery, i take the time to recognize that, in the time i’ve spent around phil, he’s never once lost his sense of hope. i sincerely hope that he hasn't been putting on a front just so i don’t feel bad, although i think that could be the case. now he's somewhere alone, and nobody can find him.

 

i just hope that wherever he is, he’s there alive.


	15. if i'm losing a piece of me / counting to fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dan's worst nightmare comes true.
> 
> suicide and self harm mentioned.

_two weeks. two weeks and one day, to be exact. that’s how many days went by before they found him. the police found martyn’s car three hours away, covered in snow and ice. phil was inside with an empty pill bottle and a sweater dan had left at his house. on the passenger’s seat sat three pieces of paper, each of which had been written for a different person. the top was written for his parents, the middle was written for martyn, and the bottom was written for dan._

 

_phil was gone._

 

i’d grown tired of waiting for kathryn to call back. after two weeks, it’d gotten rather difficult to stay up by the phone only to fall asleep disappointed.

 

when two weeks and one day had passed, i gave up entirely. that was the day i was pulled out of french class and into the school office. mum and kathryn both stood there frazzled. it didn’t take long for me to catch on to what had happened. phil’s mother embraced me and the two of us sobbed on one another’s shoulders. my mum simply stood, unsure of how she was supposed to react. she appeared to have already been crying, so i decided to not make anything of it. kathryn handed me a slip of loose leaf paper with my name written on it in phil’s slightly oversized, sloppy cursive. the lines of the paper became augmented with ever-soft teardrops, presumably from phil and not his mother.

 

i shoved the note into my back pocket; there was no way in hell i could read phil’s last words in front of his mum or mine.

 

so here we are, two weeks and one day after phil had disappeared.

 

“mum, take me home.”  
“you don’t want to spend time with the lesters?”   
“i can’t be in that house.”

“it’s fine, mrs. howell. let dan have the time he needs.”

“i suppose. have you got your things?”  
“my bag is all i’ve brought with me, mum.”   
“i suppose that’s all, then. we’ll see you around, kathryn.”

“i’m sorry, mrs. lester.”  
“this isn’t your fault, daniel. please don’t apologize. go home and rest, okay? i’ll let your mother know when the funeral is.” mum and i nod and exit the office, heading to the car park.

 

“daniel, honey, are you alright?”  
“please just drive.”   
“i want to make sure you-”

“i said _drive_ , mum.” she lets out an exasperated sigh and puts the car in gear.

“do you want to do something tonight? maybe go to a movie or dinner?”  
“i don’t want to do anything, okay?”

“look, dan. phil’s suicide wasn’t your fault.”

“please don’t talk about him. just… can we please not talk about it?”

“i suppose. i just don’t want you hurting because of something that was out of your control.”

“it wasn’t out of my control, mum. i could’ve called phil at any time during those fourteen days, but i didn’t. i waited until day fifteen to worry about it and then he was gone. he died and i could’ve stopped him, but i didn’t. phil’s dead and i could’ve prevented it,” i stop and catch my breath, attempting to hold back tears. “i could’ve stopped him.”

“you couldn’t have stopped him, dan. kathryn even said he didn’t have his phone with him. there was no way you could have contacted him without going directly to where he was and speaking to him, face-to-face.”

“you know what? it was so much more than just not calling him. i hurt myself, mum. i had hurt myself, i told phil, and he had to take care of me because you and dad were doing a _shit_ job at it. phil was so concerned with my problems that he couldn’t take care of himself. now we’re here and he’s not. i’m struggling and he’s not here to show me the kindness that i haven’t been receiving from the people who are supposed to love me unconditionally. i don’t know how to function without him, mum. i don’t know what i’m supposed to do.”

 

mum takes a heavy breath in consideration of all i’ve said. the air feels overly pressurized, and i can’t tell what she’s going to say.

 

“i don’t know what you’re supposed to do either, daniel. if i’m honest, i thought it would’ve been you to pull something like that.”

“what’s that even supposed to mean?”

“i can’t exactly tell what it is, but something’s been off about you since you told me, you know…”  
“i know. i mean, it’s not like you’ve been completely avoiding my emotions since i came out or anything.”   
“oh, stop it.”

“no. you’re the one who literally just stated you thought i’d off myself. you don’t get to just say that and then not elaborate. you don’t get to feel sorry for yourself. you don’t get that right.”  
“well, you don’t get to feel sorry for yourself, either.”   
“i don’t. i’m sorry for you because you don’t realize the absolute bitch you’ve been about all of this.”   
“what did you just call me?   
“you heard me.”   
“i knew something was wrong with you the second you told me you’re a _queer_.” her face and voice go from _kind, understanding mother_ to _you’re not even my son_ in approximately 1/10000 of a second. i’m not sure if i should feel bad about what i’ve said or not, considering her response.

“sounds like we’re in the same boat, then.”

 

upon entering the house, i keep my shoes on and stomp up the stairs with all the force in my body.   
“don’t wear your shoes on the carpet! i just swept!”   
“to hell with your carpet.”

“daniel james!” i nearly sprint to my room once i ascend the staircase and slam the door shut.

 

this is not at all how i wanted today to go. i mean, i expected to not hear from phil. that’s been the common theme for the past two weeks. i didn’t expect to hear from his mother, either. now that i know i’m never going to hear from him again, i don’t think i want to listen to anybody. i’m not sure i’d be able to handle it. mum’s back on her homophobic parent bullshit, i’m stuck under this roof, and the only person i’ve ever loved is gone. all that, and it’s only tuesday.

 

believe me, i meant it when i told mum i don’t know what i’m supposed to do.


	16. feeling like my heart's mistaken / like a tear down a cheek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this final chapter, dan struggles after coming out to his family on his fifteenth birthday. he also reads phil's good-bye note. 
> 
> overdose, self harm, and suicide are discussed in this chapter.

it’s june. the eleventh of june. my fifteenth birthday. mum says i should converse with my family, but frankly, i’d like to just stay in my bedroom and wallow in my misery. i don’t care about my family members, and they don’t care about me. i’m fine with keeping it that way. adrian will occasionally tap on the door to let me know when people get here. i tell him “cool. you can leave now,” and he does. 

 

it’s been almost half a year since phil left. i should be over it by now, shouldn’t i? i mean, god, it’s not like he’s gone temporarily. it’s over. done. he’s six feet under the ground and there forever. mum reminds me way too much that phil’s  _ dead _ . i hate that word, y’know? dead. it’s harsh and too incredibly permanent and i’m not all that used to having things stay the same way forever. 

 

“daniel james, you need to come down here right this instant.”

“no.”   
“your family is here and they’d like to actually see the person they’re here to celebrate.”   
“send them home.”   
“i did not invite your aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents to drive out of their way to see you just to tell them to leave.”   
“i didn’t ask you to invite them.” that’s when i hear mum’s footsteps full-force stomping up the stairs. 

“listen here. i don’t care whether or not you’re still not over phil dying. you need to get downstairs and spend time around the people who care for you.”   
“are they all still going to care for me if i tell them i’m bisexual? do they care for me because they’re family and they’re going to love me no matter what, or do they care for me because they’re family and they’re being forced to?”

“you’re not going to tell them that. not here. not in this house.”   
“watch me.” this is when that suburban dinnertime symphony is no longer a symphony, but rather a discordant clammer of dreams shattering, glass breaking, and shouts of rejection. mum simply stares at me from the staircase. adrian runs and hugs me. 

  
“i’m glad you’re out of your room finally, dan. it was boring down here with all these old people.”   
“well, mom’s making me come down here. it’s not on my own terms.”   
“oh. what were you two talking about up there?”   
“i’m coming out, adrian. everyone in the dining room is going to hear what i have to say, and mum can’t stop me.” 

“are you sure?”   
“they’re not going to stay in this house and celebrate a false image, adrian. if they don’t like who - what - i am, they don’t have to stay here.”   
“well, i hope it goes well. i’m going to grab some cake.”   
  


“hi, everyone!” they all shower me in  _ “happy birthday!” _ and  _ “hello!” _ and  _ “how’s it going?” _ , to which i respond, “i’ve got something to tell all of you. i figure, i’m old enough to realize what all is going on.”   
“on with it, then.”

“you guys remember my friend phil, yeah? the one that passed away. i think you guys saw him at christmas.” 

“what about it, daniel?” 

“he was, uh, my boyfriend. i like boys. and girls. don’t worry about that.”

“are you sure this is the right place to be saying that?”   
“i mean, if me telling you guys to go away before didn’t send you off, i’m sure this will.” 

“dan, you know you’re too young to know that, right? i mean, what if you change your mind?”   
“i’ve dealt with mom calling me confused quite enough, granddad, and i’m sure she’s tired of me saying that i’ve never been more sure of anything else. i know who i am, and i know what i am, and none of you are going to make me change that.” a few disapproving faces followed by genuinely confused children head out the front door, leaving gifts on the counter. the last few people staying simply weren’t paying attention. that, or they’re too busy being decent people to walk out on the party of a kid with too much on his plate.   
  


“are you absolutely foolish, daniel?”   
“look, if they don’t like it, they don’t have to be around me. the fact that my heart works differently shouldn’t be the reason for it, though.”

“well, you’ve got what you want. i suggest you head upstairs before your father hears about it.”   
“got it, mum. sorry for existing, y’know?”   
“what?”   
“it’d be so much easier for you to be happy if i wasn’t your son. you said it when i did. you’d rather not be my mother. it’d be so much better if the lesters were my family.”

“maybe if you wouldn’t be such a stubborn child all the time and realize when your parents are right, i wouldn’t agree.”   
“good god.” i head upstairs and pack as many of my things as i possibly can. there’s a few more of my dad’s razors in my bathroom cabinet, and i seriously wonder if it’d be a good idea to use them now. i decide against it, knowing i’d probably do something horrendous to myself if i got carried away. this sends me back into my room with them in hand, throwing them in one of my bags.

 

amidst the packing and checking out of paranoia every five minutes to make sure my bedroom door is locked, i end up flopping face-down on my bed. i’m not even sure why i’m packing, to be entirely honest. the lesters wouldn’t want me around. it’d just remind them of phil, and i’m one-hundred percent positive that they’d like to forget about everything. now that i think about phil, i’m reminded that i never actually read his note. i was more concerned with finishing the school year and keeping myself in check. maybe i should read it. for the sake of closure, if nothing else.

 

a few good minutes of fishing through my dresser drawers wind up with me holding the folded paper in my left hand. i could rip it up now and throw it away. i could read the whole thing. neither of those would change the fact that this was a suicide note and it’s going to be heavy on my head, on my heart. 

 

i end up unfolding the paper, noticing that the lines are still slightly augmented in a few spots from contrite tearfall. i don’t want to know what was going through his mind when he wrote this. 

 

_ there phil sat, one shaky hand holding a black ink pen he’d snatched from his mum’s desk, the other holding a notepad of college-ruled paper. two prescription bottles - one of duloxetine and one of ativan - sat in the cupholder; phil had been taking the antidepressants and anti-anxiety pills since he was 11. he couldn’t go anywhere without them. the goodbye letters to martyn and his parents had already been written and sat on the passenger’s seat. this was the one he had to write to dan, and it had to have been the most difficult of all.  _

 

_ it was all the raven-haired boy could do - to break down into a sobbing fit. dan was so deeply affected by everything happening at the moment in time, and phil couldn’t help him. if all went according to plan, phil wouldn’t be around tomorrow. this whole issue went a lot deeper than the having anxiety or dan having problems. phil had been struggling in his own head for a long time, and he simply couldn’t handle all of it any longer.  _

 

_ he started the letter with bolder letters - that’s how he wrote the other ones.  _

 

**_daniel,_ **

 

**_i get it. i’m probably the worst person on the planet right now. you probably think i’m selfish. that’s how it always is with these things. selfish. isn’t that funny? i’m about to off myself and instead of my own mortality, i’m worrying about what people are going to think of me. that’s all they’ll think. selfish, stupid philip throwing away his life because he’s inconvenienced and sad? he sounds like a dumbass._ **

 

**_i think i understand why you hurt yourself. i mean, i’m not ever going to do it, but i get it. wanting to escape from some sort of pain by causing another pain? that’s kinda what i’m doing now, isn’t it? i mean, i can’t compare my issues to yours. that’d be dumb._ **

 

**_anyway, i’m sorry about all this. i’m sorry i haven’t talked to you. my phone died and i forgot the charger so i’m kinda unable to contact anyone._ **

 

_ he took a break from writing for a moment. his phone was plugged in right next to him, utilizing the car charger. phil knew he was lying. then again, how would anybody know he’s lying? he’s going to die. that’s his mission. if all his pills don’t kill him, something else will.  _

 

_ phil didn’t want to think about what he was going to do in the case overdosing didn’t take him out. he didn’t want to hurt himself. he didn’t want to wreck martyn’s car. he didn’t even know where he’d go to hang himself.  _

 

**_maybe i shouldn’t have run off, y’know? i feel stupid now. i didn’t bring money or anything. i can’t remember the last time i ate, haha. i also can’t remember the last time i slept for more than a nap at a time. i shouldn’t ramble on paper, should i?_ **

 

**_anyway, here’s the cliche rant you were probably expecting._ **

 

**_it’s not your fault. you’ve probably been told this by my mum, your mum, the school counselor, and anyone who acts like they care about either of us. i love you a whole lot. now that i’m doing this, i’m regretting the fact that i didn’t ever tell you. this probably isn’t the time to tell you._ **

 

**_i’m really so sorry, good god. i’m a mess and you probably are too. it’s cold out here. martyn’s heating system isn’t working right. maybe he should know that. maybe i should go home. maybe i shouldn’t have brought all my meds._ **

 

_ he popped the lid off of one of his bottles, downing his pills one by one. he knew it was going to take a while for all of them to kick in, so he finished the letter and proofread it a little bit. _

 

**_i guess i’m leaving now._ **

 

**_i love you, sweet boy._ **

 

**_i’m sorry._ **

**_-phil_ **

 

_ a solid moment went by before phil’s eyelids started getting heavy. his anxiety meds always made him drowsy, so he didn’t register it at first; however, a sense of panic overwhelmed him when he realized that it was getting too hard to keep his eyelids open. in a state of too much worry, he dialed 9-1-1 and prayed that they’d get there soon. this isn’t how phil wanted to go. this isn’t how phil was supposed to go. _

 

_ he did anyway. _

 

i crumble up the note and throw it across the room. i don’t want to ever read it again, but i know i’m going to eventually. i couldn’t help but hear the entirety of it in phil’s voice, and that somehow hurt even more. i don’t entirely get why it’s still so painful to think about, especially after all this time. something tells me it should’ve been me, i think. i should’ve been the one whose parents had to bury him and whose brother had to mourn the loss of a video game buddy and whose boyfriend had to read the note. i don’t have a place. i’m never going to have a place. i’m simply moving along from day to day, waiting until i can grow up and leave and not have to deal with my family and...that’s when it hits me. 

 

phil wasn’t looking forward to anything, was he? he wasn’t counting down the days to anything. he had everything he could ever hope for. i mean, yeah, he had rough days, but god. i didn’t think he had it that bad. the doctors explained that he had high levels of ativan in his system, and he wrote about his meds. you wouldn’t think phil had any sort of mental disorder, and you certainly wouldn’t think phil would be the kind of kid to pass away like that.

 

he did anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who read this story!!! i'm sorry it took so long to finish, whoops. 
> 
> i've written most of this over the course of my sophomore year. being 15 and coming to terms with my identity as a queer girl in a conservative family and conservative state has been extremely difficult, and i've written this story along with my life experiences as a way of coping with it. 
> 
> i hope this story helped someone feel a little less alone, like it helped me when i wrote it.
> 
> <3
> 
> -coffeeandcatwhiskers


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